


the cycle repeated as explosions broke in the sky

by notthebigspoon



Series: Jet Black Sky Is Painted White Again [10]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2012-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 20:37:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthebigspoon/pseuds/notthebigspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hunter Pence: clincher of divisions and unable to believe it.<br/>Brandon Belt: sexually conflicted and professionally terrified.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the cycle repeated as explosions broke in the sky

It probably says a lot about Hunter's life that when Hunter skids on the grass and lands flat on his face, the ball lands neatly in his outstretched glove. There's blades of grass drifting off of his face and he's sure he's smeared green but he's looking forward and hey. There's the ball. They've clinched the division. He takes a moment to enjoy the feeling and then the sound of the crowd comes roaring into his ears and he's lost under a dog pile of teammates, laughing hysterically because holy fucking shit, he helped do this.

He's taking beatings from all sides and he finds himself a little grateful when Bumgarner breaks up the pile like he always does, gripping Hunter's arm and hauling him to his feet, steadying him and grinning before yanking Hunter into a tight hug. That sets the tone for the next several hours, everyone and their mother attack hugging Hunter and more booze than you can shake a stick at. Romo shakes up a bottle of champagne and sprays Hunter with it, laughing at a reporter caught in the crossfire.

“If Pence hadn't made that catch...” Romo says slowly before turning to Hunter, holding out his arms. “Come here, my unhetero homeboy. Hug me.”

Hunter laughs and lifts him off his feet before dropping him back down and sending him to cause trouble elsewhere. He grabs a bottle of his own and slips away from the clubhouse, finding a dark room to sit and take a breather. He's happy. Extremely happy. But it's a little overwhelming, all of the attention he'd had lately after being outed and people scrutinizing his ability to play like who he fucked even mattered. Even doing something this amazing, people will still be saying it was just luck, like he hadn't ran until his lungs were burning to make that dive.

Still, here, where it's cool and quiet, he finds himself not caring about any of it. It doesn't matter that his mother still won't talk to him. It doesn't matter that he's lost sponsors. It doesn't matter that people are so ignorant that they've shown up to games with awful signs and left awful messages on the internet and through the fan mail. The homophobes don't matter. Because he just helped clinch the fucking division and he sucks dick and he does both fucking fantastically.

“Drinking alone? In the dark? That's a little depressing.”

“Doesn't explain what you're doing looking into dark rooms. Got a boyfriend with you?” Hunter asks, taking a long drink from his champagne and smiling.

Brandon shrugs and nods, climbing into Hunter's lap on the couch he's parked himself on. He licks Hunter's lip like he's trying to share the taste of the booze before sliding a hand into Hunter's hair. He's beaming, looking Hunter's face over. He looks like he's about to say something but appears to think better of it, instead pulling Hunter in for a deep kiss. That's okay. Talking is way overrated. He did enough talking during the post game interviews.

It's not what he was expecting though. After the initial eager hungriness, it turns into something that he hasn't quite felt before with Brandon. The younger man's hands are slow but not hesitant. It's like they're just taking everything in. He wants to ask what Brandon is thinking but he doesn't want to ruin the moment. He lets his head fall back and lets Brandon take the lead, watching his boyfriend's face and trying to figure out what he's thinking, what is going on inside that head.

“You're amazing.”

“I like the sound of that.” Hunter grins. “Continue.”

“Not even joking. Just... all the shit going on lately. I don't know how you're doing it. How do you keep from going crazy?”

“Good friends. A good boyfriend.” Hunter smiles, thumbing Brandon's cheek. “I told you before, if you look at yourself through someone else's ignorance, you're never going to be happy. I know who I am and I know what I can do and I'm pretty happy with it.”

“Listen to you.... what'd I tell you? Big damn hero.”

“Take the big damn hero home?”

“Happily.”

It's not that easy though. When they reach the clubhouse, the party is still in full swing and they get dragged back into it. Not that Hunter minds. This isn't the kind of day you have every year or even every few years. He's pulled one way by Wilson while Brandon is pulled the other way by Crawford. The champagne becomes something else produced from a flask stashed in Wilson's beard (in his _beard_ , Hunter was right, it really is magical) and he ends up dancing on a table with Pagan, both of them stripping their shirts off while teammates fling cash at them.

They still have to play, tomorrow, though. A clinch is no excuse to get lazy, it's a reminder that you need to bust your ass, nothing comes free and if you want that title, you have to work for it. Wilson breaks up the party after a while, getting them out the door with the promise of a bigger and better party tomorrow night, win or lose. Hunter is more than a little buzzed and he raises his hand when there's a call for the guys who need rides or cabs.

He tumbles into the back of Lincecum's car with Brandon in tow and he climbs straight into Brandon's lap, kissing him hard and looping an arm around his neck. Lincecum mutters, a little disgustedly, that they can wait and do that elsewhere. Wilson swats him and tells him to stop being the Grinch that stole Sexmas. Hunter ignores them both in favor of making out with his boyfriend. He gets the feeling that when they pull up in front of Hunter's building, whatever Lincecum is muttering under his breath while Wilson says goodnight is not complimentary.

How they get upstairs without being seen is a miracle, both of them with a little too much alcohol in their systems to at all manage subtlety. They break their kiss and make it a few more feet every few minutes before lunging back in for more. When they fall through the front door, Hunter barely manages to shut and bolt it behind him before Brandon is forcibly dragging him into the bedroom and shoving him backwards onto the bed.

When Hunter wakes up in the morning, he's sore and aching in all the right places. His head is pounding with a hangover but at least he's not wanting to hurl. The thing he really doesn't like, though, is that he's alone. The bed is chilled, suggesting he's been alone for a while. He rolls out of the bed, hits the head before washing his hands, brushing his teeth and face. The rest of the apartment is as quiet as the bedroom is and he feels lost, confused, wondering why Brandon would leave without so much as a word to him.

When he reaches the kitchen counter, he sees why and it's just like being called into the managers offices but so so much worse. Then again, he's probably going to be called into the office when he gets to the park. Hell, they're probably trying to call him and get him into the offices now. Because on the counter is a copy of the SF Chronicle. The top half is dominated by a picture of Brandon and Hunter kissing. Next to the picture is a post it, with one simple thing written in Brandon's scrawled handwriting.

_we're fucked_


End file.
